For Pete's Sake
by PlushChrome
Summary: THIS IS NOT A SONG FIC! The Monkees' bad day gets worse when Micky sprains his wrist right before an important audition. He can still sing, but the group is having a hard time trying to find a replacement drummer.


Disclaimer: Gee, I wish I _did _own the Monkees. It would have been fun writing for the actual show. But I don't, and it's been forty years since the show was airing anyway. I shall have to be content writing fanfiction.

~Monkees~

"I guess I should've stayed in bed," Mike recited as the group walked up the stairs to their pad, the freshly torn hole in his jacket looking worse in the dim light from the hallway. His sleeve had been caught in a door and he hadn't realized it, turning to walk away, he ripped the sleeve almost all the way off at the shoulder.

"My pillow wrapped around my head," Micky continued as he walked, his arms, hands, and jacket covered in motor oil from the car, which had broken down about half a mile away. He had been trying to fix it for an hour, but he was no mechanic, and finally they had all had to walk home.

"Instead I'm waking up to find," Peter took the next line as he followed Micky, his shoes squeaking on the floor and squishing water everywhere. He had just so happened to be standing in just the right spot to be splashed with muddy water as a car drove by, and was now soaked.

"A nightmare of a different kind," Davy said as he followed behind Peter. At the moment, he looked to be the most put-together of the group, but earlier that day, he had started off the chain of bad luck by getting food poisoning from some bad alfredo at an Italian restaurant, and had only recently gotten over his ensuing stomach sickness.

Then, as they reached the door to their pad and Mike reached over to open the door, they all sang in perfect harmony, "We've got no pay!" This had been a drag for all four of them, because on top of everything that had happened, they had been fired from their current gig, performing at the Italian restaurant.

They couldn't really blame the owner, he had fired them for good reason. Davy had gotten sick halfway through a song and had thrown up on the audience, including a young girl who had taken an interest in him before he'd eaten the alfredo.

But still, a job was a job, and the Monkees were once again out of work.

And also out of their apartment, apparently. "Uh, guys?" Mike said. "You wouldn't happen to have the keys with you, would ya?"

Micky, Davy and Peter all looked at each other for a second before turning to Mike and saying simultaneously in a deadpan voice "This just doesn't seem to be our day."

Mike sighed and sat down in front of the door. "Well, I don't know what we're gonna do," he said. "We're locked out of the pad, out of a job, Peter's soaked, and you know what? I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, me too," Peter said sighing. "I really want some mashed potatoes and gravy,"

"You know what I'm in the mood for?" Said Micky. "Pizza. Nice and hot, with cheese dripping off the sides, and pepperoni and olives, and creamy ranch dressing to dip it in!"

"Oh, let's please not talk about food!" Davy said desperately, holding his stomach. "Especially cheese and creamy dressing!"

The other three Monkees backed away from Davy, just in case. "There's got to be some way to get into the pad," Mike said, scratching his head in thought.

"Hey, I've got it!" Micky said excitedly, jumping up and rubbing his hands together. "I'll go around back and climb up to the balcony. Then I'll come in through the back door and let you guys in from the inside!"

He turned to run back down to the front door, and as he stepped back outside, Mike yelled "Be careful!" to him, more out of instinct than actual worry. Micky was always climbing on stuff, he wasn't likely to fall. They waited for a few moments for the door to click open.

After a few minutes, they started to get worried. "Come on," Mike said, getting up and walking to the door. "Let's see what's keeping him."

Davy and Peter followed him around to the back of the house, where Micky was climbing up the side of the balcony. "Hey, Mick?" Mike called up. "What's the hold up?"

Micky panted as he climbed. "Sorry, guys!" He said. "But motor oil is a lot... more slippery... than I thought!"

Mike could have died right there. He'd forgotten that Micky had motor oil on his hands. There was no way he should have allowed the younger boy to try and climb to a high place with slippery hands. "Oh, I can't look!" He said, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Whoa!" He heard Micky say, as Davy and Peter gasped. Mike couldn't help it. He opened his eyes and peeked through his fingers up at Micky, who was still balanced precariously halfway up the side of the house. "Heh," he was chuckling. "I almost slipped and fell," he called down to the others. "That sure wouldn't have been very fu-"

Then he actually did lose his grip and teetered for a second before beginning his downward descent. All four of the Monkees yelled as Micky fell, the three on the ground rushing forward to try and catch him. But they were too far away and Micky landed in the sand with a thud. "Ow ow ow!" He said standing up.

The other three reached him then and began panicking, asking him if he was alright and where did it hurt and whether they should call a hospital and did he need to be carried back up to the pad?

"Guys, guys, calm down!" Micky said, wincing in pain and clutching his wrist. "I'm alright, I just landed on my wrist funny." They all looked down at Micky's wrist, which was already beginning to swell. "Mick, I think we need to take you to see a doctor," Mike said.

"What!?" Micky exclaimed. "But we can't afford a doctor, I'll just put some ice on it, it'll be fine!"

"Oh, look, it's turning purple!" Davy said, his eyes wide. Micky looked down at his wrist, which was indeed turning purple, and sighed. "Fine," he said. "Let's go."

~Monkees~

It ended up being Peter who got them inside the pad after Mike took Micky to the hospital. He went down to Mr. Babbit's apartment and asked for a spare key. Mr. Babbit said he didn't have a spare key, but he reluctantly went up with Peter to the door of their pad and fiddled around with a screwdriver until he got it open.

Peter thanked him with a smile, and Mr. Babbit grumbled about "irresponsible, no good, long-haired weirdoes!" After he left, Peter and Davy went inside and shut the door behind them.

Neither of them did much talking as they waited, Davy just sat on the couch as Peter paced back and forth in front of him.

After about an hour of waiting, the phone rang. Davy jumped up from the couch with a yell as Peter ran to the phone and picked it up. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Can you hear me? He-" He suddenly realized that he was holding it upside down, and he turned it right side up so he could hear who it was.

It was Mike on the other end, saying "Hello? Is anyone there? Hellooo..." "Mike!" Peter said, causing Davy to rush over to him. "What's going on?" he whispered. "How's Micky? Did he say how Micky was?"

"Just a second, Davy, I can't hear! Mike? What did you say?"

"I said that Micky's gonna be fine," Mike said on the other end. "It's just a sprain, nothing too serious. The doctor's putting a cast on it now. How's everything going on there? Did you get inside?"

"Yeah," Said Peter. "We got in just fine, no more injuries."

"Well, that's good news, at least," Mike said. "Hey, can you put Davy on for me?" Peter nodded. "Sure, Mike," he said. Handing the phone to Davy, he said "Micky's fine, it's just a sprain. Mike wants to talk to you." Davy took the phone from Peter and held it up to his ear.

"Mike?" He said. "What'd you want to talk to me about?" Mike sighed. "Well, Davy," He said. "Micky was right about one thing, we can't really afford a hospital trip right now. The rent's overdue, we're almost out of food, and now we're out of a job."

Mike was silent for a moment. "The thing is, Davy," he said finally. "We're gonna have to make a few sacrifices now to make things work. Mainly, that surprise party we were planning for Peter's birthday next week."

Davy gasped. "What is it?" Peter asked next to him. Davy chuckled nervously. "Well, um, it's nothing Peter, I just, um, Mike just told me that he, um, saw a little girl, lose her balloon. It's flying away, out of reach."

"Oh no," Peter said, looking down sadly. "Poor kid." Davy smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. "Poor kid. Mike!" He turned his attention back to the phone. "We can't do that! It's important!"

"I'm sorry, Davy, really I am!" Mike said, and Davy could tell by the sound of his voice that he really was. "You think I'd want to do that to Peter? I know he doesn't expect anything, but he would've loved the party. We just can't afford it! We'll still get him a cake or something, but the party's off."

Davy still didn't like that they were canceling the party, but he knew Mike was right. Unless they got some cash fast, there simply wouldn't be any money for a party. "Does Micky know?" He asked after a pause. Mike sighed again.

"No," he said. "I haven't told him yet. You know he'll think this is his fault. I don't really want to tell him yet."

Davy nodded. "Right," he said. "Well, when will the two of you be getting home?" "We won't be back 'till late tonight," he said. "Don't wait up, you and Peter go ahead and get some sleep. I know you'll need some after today."

Davy nodded. "Alright," he said. "See ya later, then." "Bye," Mike said. Then Davy hung up. "They'll get back later tonight," he told Peter. "Mike said not to wait up." Peter yawned. "Well then, I'm gonna go to bed," he said. "Goodnight Davy!" With a smile, Peter turned to the staircase and went up to the bedroom. "Goodnight, Peter!" Davy called up after him.

After Peter shut the door to the bedroom, Davy sighed and sat back down on the couch. It wasn't right that they should have to cancel Peter's party. Mike was right, Peter wasn't expecting anything. Peter never expected anything on his birthdays, he was always surprised with anything they did, and this year, they had planned to have a big party.

They were going to have decorations, and snacks, and they were going to invite all their friends. They had been saving their pocket change for months, all in secret so that Peter wouldn't suspect anything.

But now they were going to have to use that money to pay the hospital bill, and the rent, and groceries. And as a result, poor Peter wouldn't have a birthday party.

It just wasn't fair, Davy decided. Out of the four of them, it had to be Peter's party that was canceled.

Peter, who always thought the best of his fellow man. Peter, who would gladly give you every dollar in his pocket if you needed to borrow a few bucks. Peter, who had been sad to hear that an unknown little girl had lost her balloon.

If any of them deserved a nice party, it was Peter. And now they wouldn't be able to have one for him.

Walking around the pad and turning of most of the lights, Davy stood in the dark for a moment, feeling down about the whole ordeal. Then, shaking his head at the injustice of the world, he slowly climbed the staircase up to his room.

~Monkees~

Davy came downstairs early the next morning. He'd heard Mike and Micky come home late the night before, but he hadn't gone down to see them, and when Mike had looked in on him and Peter in their shared bedroom, Davy had pretended to be asleep. He knew it wasn't fair, but he just didn't want to talk to Mike right now.

So he grabbed a piece of toast and left before any of the others woke up. He walked along the beach for a little while, but soon realized that the crashing waves and gentle sands did nothing to help his mood.

So he turned and began walking through the town. He wasn't going anywhere in particular, he was just walking. Then, as he walked past a music store, he saw it.

WANTED

Talented musician/group

Chance at performing LIVE at Halloughby Hall

For the Annual Charity Masque Ball

AND 250 dollars pay

AUDITIONS HELD on February 7th

SIGN UP INSIDE

Davy couldn't believe his eyes. How lucky it was that he'd found this flier. And today, of all days. It was February 6th, so they had to sign up today if they wanted to make it to the auditions. That meant he didn't have any time to lose.

He turned and ran all the way back to the pad. "MIKE!" He yelled as he burst through the door. Mike yelled and jumped up from the couch, where he had been dozing off.

"Davy!?" He asked, hand over his heart. "Don't do that!" Davy smiled. "Sorry," he said. "But I've found a way to get some money!" Mike paused. "What?" He asked. Davy was grinning. "Come on," he said.

Mike followed as Davy led the way back to the music store. "See?" He said, pointing to the flier. Mike read it and looked down at Davy. "There's just one problem," he said. "We don't have a drummer."

Davy felt the smile fall off his face. He had forgotten that Micky's sprained wrist meant that he couldn't play the drums. And without a drummer, they just wouldn't be able to perform their songs.

"Look, Davy," Mike said. "I know you feel bad about Peter's party, but there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry." Davy sighed, looking everywhere but at Mike. He wasn't willing to accept this. There had to be _some_ way to get that money. "What if we found a replacement drummer?" He asked suddenly.

Mike laughed. "Where are we going to find a replacement drummer?" He said. "And even if we did, there's no way we could teach him all of our songs before tomorrow. There's just no way!"

"Well, you could at least try!" Davy said angrily. "Instead of giving up before we've even started!" He turned and stalked away, back towards the pad. He wondered briefly why Mike didn't run after him, but he pushed the thought away and continued on his way.

He slowed down after about a block and sighed. He felt bad for yelling at Mike, he knew that it wasn't his fault. He just hated that they couldn't throw the party for Peter.

He kicked a can across the street and then continued walking slowly back to the pad. After about five minutes of walking, he heard Mike behind him. "Davy!" He called. Davy stopped and turned around. He looked down at the ground as Mike came running up.

"Hey, Mike..." He said as Mike stopped. He was about to apologize when Mike cut him off. "Davy, I'm sorry," he said. Davy looked up in surprise. "What!?" He said. "What are _you _sorry for!?"

"Well," Mike said. "You were right. I shouldn't give up before we even start. Peter deserves to have that party, and I'm gonna try as hard as I can to give it to him!" He smiled at Davy. "I've signed us up for the contest. The auditions are tomorrow, so we'd better get to work looking for that drummer!"

Davy grinned, and then he jumped up and hugged Mike, saying "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Mike laughed. "Whoa, there!" He said. "Come on, Davy!" Davy let go of Mike and landed back on the floor. Stepping back, he stopped smiling for a second. "Mike," he said. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, it wasn't your fault." Mike smiled. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I understood exactly how you felt. I'm actually glad you gave me that talkin' to, saved me the trouble of giving it to myself."

Davy smiled. "No problem," he said. "That's what friends are for."

~Monkees~

As soon as Peter opened the door for the hopefuls auditioning for the position, it became obvious that they wouldn't be finding a good drummer anytime soon. A crowd of strange looking characters pushed through the door, practically bowling over Peter in their hurry to try their luck.

There were quite a few guys in boots with long hair, as well as a mean-looking motorcyclist who rode his bike into the pad, a ten year old girl in a pink dress and pigtails, and a circus clown with an elephant. Even a live monkey came in for the audition, carrying his own drumsticks.

All was chaos as each person tried their luck. To be fair, the band played the same song for each audition, I'll Get Back Up On My Feet, but nobody could quite get it right. A lot of the performers simply had no rhythm. The Motorcyclist played too hard, it didn't fit with their sound. The monkey was too fond of the cymbals, he gave it a crash on every beat. The circus clown was too busy trying to keep the elephant from eating his hat to be of much help.

When the Monkees suggested that the elephant wait outside, the large animal got offended and proceeded to chase the four of them in circles around their living room, as they did everything they could to get away.

The motorcyclist began to ride his bike behind the elephant as Davy hopped up onto the couch and Peter ran up the spiral staircase, where he proceeded to get into a slap fight with the monkey.

Mike and Micky kept running in circles, and the elephant was right underneath the balcony as the monkey got the circus clown to help push Peter off the edge. He landed on the elephant and sat up, only to find that he was facing the wrong way.

The best drummer of the group turned out to be the little girl, but when the Monkees went over to congratulate her on her performance (they really were desperate), she turned into a little terror and began screaming at them.

She drove them back into the main part of the living room, where the elephant chase was still going on, and she joined in, somehow obtaining a whip. She climbed up on top of the elephant and rode it like a little queen, whipping at the Monkees every couple of minutes.

They finally got all the people (and animals) to leave, and as soon as the last of them left the pad, Mike shut the door and turned to the rest of the band.

"Well," he said. "That was the worst idea we've ever had." Micky put his head in his hands as Davy let out a sigh. Peter nodded, rubbing his face where the monkey had slapped him.

"You know, I don't get it!" Said Mike. "You'd think there'd be at least one person out there besides Mick who has rhythm and knows how to play our style of music."

"Hey!" Peter said suddenly. "Maybe Davy could do it!" "Oh, Peter," Davy said. "Don't be silly! I'm no drummer!"

"Now, wait a minute!" Mike said. "Pete, that's not a bad idea! Davy, you certainly have some rhythm, after all, you do play the maracas and the tambourine just fine!" "Yeah, but that's different!" Davy exclaimed. "I've never played the drums before in my life! I couldn't play them good enough to win a contest!"

"I don't know, Davy," Micky said. "I can teach you! It's pretty straightforward once you get the hang of it!" Davy still looked ready to argue, but then Mike put his arm around his shoulder. "Come on, Davy!" He said. "You can at least try, no need to give up before you've even started."

Davy sighed in defeat. Having had his own words repeated back to him, he couldn't very well say no. "Fine," he said. "I'll give it a try."

~Monkees~

It was time for the audition and Davy was more nervous than he'd ever been before. He usually didn't get nervous before a gig, but then again, this was his first time on the drums.

He'd been practicing all day yesterday and all day today, and although he still wasn't nearly as good as Micky, the other band mates agreed he was good enough to play for the audition.

For the audition, they played Daily Nightly, and as soon as the music started, Davy could feel the worry wash away. He got lost in the sound of it, and let his instincts take over.

After the song was over, he looked over at Mike, who nodded at him, smiling his half smile. Davy breathed a sigh of relief. He'd done it.

~Monkees~

After everyone had auditioned, the judges stood up on the stage and tapped the microphone a few times before clearing his throat and speaking into it. "Well, everybody!" He said. "We have the results right here, and we are happy to announce the winners of this audition, who will be playing at the Annual Charity Masque Ball in two weeks!"

He looked at the slip of paper in his hand and smiled up at the crowd as the Monkees crossed their fingers. "The Monkees!" The man announced.

"YES!" Micky roared as Davy jumped up and down yelling in his excitement. Mike held his hands up to the sky as if he had just won a wrestling match, and Peter grinned and clapped his hands.

The man stepped down from the stage and walked over to the Monkees, smiling widely.

"Well, boys!" He said. "Congratulations! Be at the Halloughby Hall at 3 PM on February 20th to get set up. The ball is at 6, so there should be plenty of time to get your sound tested and whatnot. Now, in regards to your pay..."

The man reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Here's 100 dollars, paid in advance," he said, handing the envelope to Mike. "You'll get the other 150 after the ball. Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen!" The man walked away.

Davy was grinning. "How about that?" He said. "We did it! Now we can-" He stopped himself just in time. "Now we can what?" Peter asked. Davy chuckled nervously. "Uh, now we can, um, buy a balloon! Um, if we ever find that little girl, we can buy her a balloon."

"Oh," Peter said, looking confused. "I admire your heart, Davy," he said. Davy nodded. "Thanks," he said, smiling nervously. "And," Mike said, putting his arm around Davy's shoulder. "We admire your drumming. You really did it!" Davy grinned. "I did, didn't I?" He said, straightening the tie he was wearing.

"Oh no!" Micky said. "He's getting a big head! Quick! Do something to deflate it!"

"Well, Davy," said Mike. "This sure makes up for you throwing up all over the audience at that restaurant and getting us all fired in the first place."

That did it. Davy shot Mike a glance and then turned to Micky. "I've gotta say, man, As fun as it was this once, I'm certainly glad _you're_ the drummer, I definitely don't want to make a job of it!"

"Well, too bad!" Mike said. "First off, you're gonna have to play until Micky gets his cast off, and that's not gonna be for a couple o' weeks, and that means you're gonna have to play at the ball. So now you're gonna have to learn a whole set of songs. Second, now that you've discovered this talent in drumming, you can give Micky a break every now and again. You're gonna be practicing your drumming every waking moment from now until the ball."

"_Every_ waking moment?" Davy asked, hiding another question behind the obvious one. Mike smiled. "Naw," he said cryptically. "We'll give you a break sometime next week."

Davy grinned. They were having Peter's party! He sighed again, feeling good about life in general.

~Monkees~

The day of the Peter's birthday dawned bright and clear, the perfect weather for a party. Micky took Peter for a walk through the town, pretending to have lost his snare drum, in an attempt to keep him from the house. While they were gone, Davy and Mike set up for the party and got the cake from a local bakery. After their last attempt at baking, they had all agreed that this was the wisest course of action.

With the pad all decorated and the guests all in attendance, it was time to start the party. Micky rushed into the door, whisper shouting "He's coming! He's coming!" "Everybody, hide!" Mike whispered. Everybody dove for hiding spots, Mike, Micky and Davy jumping behind the couch, accidentally banging their heads as they did so.

Peter walked in then, and everybody jumped out from their hiding spots. "Surprise!" They all yelled. Peter also jumped, startled. He blinked in surprise, and a grin spread over his face. He was speechless as the other three ran forward and put their arms around him in a group hug.

"Happy birthday, Pete!" Mike said. Peter smiled and looked around at the group of friends.

Lots of people were there, Ellie Reynolds, Pop Harper, Prof. Milo Schnitzler, The Monster with musical ability, Pop and Susan from the circus, as well as all the rest of the performers. Milly Rudnick and Larry the moving van showed up, and their new friend Jeffy came, bringing a few other friends with him. The last guest to arrive was the monkey, who slapped Peter hello before heading off to mingle with the other guests.

As the night went on and the party continued to rock, Davy looked over at Peter, who was having the time of his life. He hadn't stopped smiling since the party had begun, and it made Davy smile just watching him.

His wrist was sore from all the drumming practice he'd been doing, Mike hadn't been joking when he'd said "every waking moment." But really, it was just a sore wrist, Davy would gladly play the drums till the day he died if he had to, the look on Peter's face was worth it.


End file.
